In My Own Words (Rewrite)
by Nothing Really Specific
Summary: Rewrite of "In My Own Words". Reepicheep chronicles his voyage across the sea as he helps another mouse named Tilden and an owl named Hyperion end a devastating war. Rewriting for plot fixes and other reasons. Violence, Language, World War II/Holocaust References, and Character Death. PLEASE REVIEW!
1. Chapter 1

**In My Own Words **

**(Rewrite)**

**NOTE: This is a rewrite of "In My Own Words". I hope this version makes more sense in terms of plot.**

**PLEASE REVIEW!**

* * *

**Chapter One: A Scar of War**

I think that it is possible that we can be changed. Be it by friends, neighbors, colleagues, or complete strangers. I know that I am stating the obvious, but the obvious most of the time, is true. I was changed once, on a voyage across the sea by two peculiar people. One wasn't even a person at all, if you believe that mice are people, I certainly do well, because I am one. Anyway, the other was an awkward sort with from what I could tell to haven't a single friend in the world, but he had a certain look to him, a certain glimmer in his eye, hope, promise, a future. Something that we all dare for, but very few ever reach. I guess I was trying to. I was by no means a self-pitying loner, but I was searching for something. Happiness some would call it. Closure would also be valid. I personally, would call it, destiny, but you might disagree. Which is completely fine by me.

The day my life changed would be the day this poor friendless soul, whose name was Eustace, stole an orange. I, being a good sport, gave him a few lessons in, well gentlemanly behavior some might call it. Ha, ha! What a show that was, what effort he gave! I was so proud of him. Then about thirty seconds after, something amazing happened. In one of the sandbags, hanging from the ropes of the mast, you know, the one's that keep the sails in check, well, one of them just so happened to be moving as if someone were trapped in there. I was about to go and help whoever this poor soul was when the bag just ripped open. Spilling sand everywhere! It was like an annoying snow, it covered everything, and I was not a happy mouse I can tell you that. No sir, I was furious, for I had just finished deck detail, and was not about to do it again. I walked over to a bleeding kinsman who fell from the great height of the mast and said to him:

"I suspect that you'll be giving me a hand in all this." To which he replied with an apparent painful attempt at sitting up. I almost felt sorry for him, so naturally I apologized in the only way I knew how. I walked over and helped him up, standing, this mouse was a bit larger than me, he was obviously a skilled fighter, a proud warrior. He extended his paw and shook mine, with a firm and gentle smile he said:

"Hello sir, terribly sorry about the mess, I'll take care of it."

He turned around and was about to start sweeping with a nearby broom, the broom that I would normally use, when I stopped him.

"Pardon me sir," I said, "but what is that on mark on your back?"

He didn't answer with words, he just looked at me, as if the answer to that question were the most painful thing in the world to him.

"Forget I asked." I quickly responded and let him to his work.

I walked away, en route to get a water bucket for my kinsman to use when I saw Eustace staring out at the ocean, looking as if he had lost something.

"Lose something?" I asked.

"What?" He said turning towards me.

"I said did you lose something?" I replied with in truth, little interest if he did or not.

"Is sanity an answer because I believe I've lost it." He said.

"Why do you think you've lost your sanity if I may ask?"

He looked at me as if he were about to lift his foot up and do me in. "This whole place is mad! I'm going batty." He cried.

I laughed, hysterically you might say, "Mad! Oh isn't that just grand. You're going mad. Are you-" I couldn't help myself, I was making a fool of myself. "Are you delusional?"

"No, and I don't really get why you're laughing like an ass." He said.

I nodded and caught my breath, "Because you're not mad Eustace, if you were we would've tied you up in the brig by now and start asking trivial questions."

"Well if I'm not mad then I must be crazy."

"No," I said, "you're not crazy either, you're just out of your comfort zone is all. We'll have to work on that."

"Whatever." Eustace walked away, I could tell by his footsteps that he was annoyed with me. Personally, I wouldn't blame him, I already publicly humiliated him once today.

Moments later, my kinsman came up to me and presented a clean and spotless deck. I smiled, impressed with his efficiency.

"Well," I said to him, "I believe I owe you an introduction."

I cleared my throat, I'm not afraid to admit it, but I was a bit of a ham.

"Reepicheep, Chief Mouse at your service." I bowed a bit, for some reason I always said the last part. It really doesn't mean anything. I've always said that titles do not make men, men make titles. I have told this to Caspian several times, but he never seems to listen.

"Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?" I asked.

"My name?" He asked. I nodded, waiting patiently with a smile. "My n-n-name?" He stuttered as if he had forgotten it.

"Are you alright?" I asked him, becoming concerned as he just stood there, perplexed, as if I had asked 'what is the circumference of the world?'.

"Can you remember your name?" I said, hoping to get something out of him.

"T-t-t-two, z-z-zero, t-t-t-two, s-s-s-seven, s-s-six, f-f-f-five." He said.

202,765.

I had no idea what that meant. It was obviously a number, and I doubt that was his name. I was about to say something along the lines of, _'Are you called by anything else?'_ when he showed me his tattoo. It was located on the outer left forearm, underneath his top layer of fur. There it was, staring right at me, the number 202,765. A scar of war.

I wanted to help him, something in his eyes told me that he needed me and it would be foolish of me to deny him.

"Who did that to you?" I asked, motioning towards the tattoo.

"Doctors." He said.

"Well, I can assure you there are no doctors of that kind here, we'll take care of you." I smiled, hoping to assure him. He didn't seem convinced.

"Do you need anything?"

He didn't verbally answer me, his stomach did. It was growling like a feral beaver (which is not a pretty sight I can tell you). Without another word I led him to the cellar.

I half expected him to binge and gorge on everything in sight, but I underestimated him severely.

I stood watch from the cellar floor as he crawled about the shelves, moving around as if he were practicing his field work (which I assumed to be reconnaissance- which is usually my position).

"Looking for something in particular?" I asked.

"Where do you keep your olive oil, grapes, and vinegar?" He asked.

I was puzzled, for he was very specific and it was an odd arrangement. "Olive oil is on the top shelf right hand side, water is in the barrel directly below you, and the grapes are on the far end of the middle shelf."

He scurried off, grabbed his materials and stood near the edge of the shelf just above the water barrel. I climbed up the orange barrel to see what he was up to.

He held out the grape and olive oil as if he were about to drop both into the water barrel. His eyes were closed and his tail was waving back and forth slowly, as if in meditation. I stood silent, waiting to see what he would do, and for a long time he just stood there.

"Reepicheep," he said, "do you believe in life and death?"

"Yes I do kinsman."

"What exactly do you believe?" He asked rather solemnly, as if he were going to do himself in.

"Death is only momentary, He holds you and then let's go in instant release." I replied, trying to be as helpful as I could. He was troubled, and looked to me as if he were about to end it all. He dropped the grape at his feet, and poured some olive oil on it. He turned towards me again:

"Where do you keep the bread and cheese?"

"The bread on the lower shelf here just over there, the cheese across the way there." I said pointing towards the requests. He moved to get them and placed four slices of bread and cheese near the olive oil covered grape. He then asked for one final item, a tomato. It was above him. He asked a favor of me to cut it for him. I did so with my blade, but before I did so I asked how many pieces.

"Four slices." He said.

Four slices of tomato were placed with the bread and cheese and formed two sandwiches. All of this was near the edge above the water barrel. My kinsman then stood next to me and waited. I waited too, hoping there was a purpose to this.

We waited for three hours. When night began to fall, I was about to curl up and fall asleep when out of the shadows a beautiful young girl appeared, perhaps seven or eight. She walked over to us, she was wearing a yellow dress with white flowers. Her face was covered with dirt, and she smelled of corpses as if she had woken up from the grave, a number was on her dress, 199,999.

She took the grape first and looked at it hesitantly as if she had never seen or had one before. My brother nodded, signaling her to eat it. She did so and noticed the two sandwiches. She picked one of them up and said:

"Will it help?"

"With pain?" My comrade asked.

The girl nodded.

"No."

"Well then, will it help with grief?" She asked, as if pleading him to say yes.

"No." My brother answered. "Perhaps," he said, "it can give you hope."

"What sort of hope?" She asked, her blue eyes shone in the moonlight that came in from a small window. I was captured by her, her innocence was contagious.

"The hope that life goes on." My kinsman responded.

The girl moved to embrace him and cried tears that to all too familiar. I had cried them once too. They are not tears of sadness, grief, or fear, but tears of joy, acceptance, love; something that cannot be described in words.

"I know it isn't what you wanted from me Marian," my brother answered, "but I hope you realize that you're not alone."

She nodded. He continued, "Your parents would've been so proud of you, I know I am." He said.

"Thank you." Marian replied softly.

"For what?" said the mouse.

I smiled, I already knew her answer.

She noticed me, I bowed. She turned back to the other.

"I have done nothing Marian, nothing except be your friend." He said. "I have saved you from nothing. I did not prevent you from perils, or nightmares, or tortures. I am just as useless as a flower when it comes to war. I am merely a doctor who has lost his equipment."

I smiled again, for once again I knew her response.

"Your equipment my friend is your heart and your heart has saved me. That's all I ever wanted." Marian said.

"To be saved?" My brother asked.

"To be loved, to be someone's friend, to be a daughter to someone." Marian said.

My heart was breaking. Her longing for home, longing for a light in darkness, for a beacon of hope. All of the things that I was searching for, and for some reason she saw all of this in my unnamed comrade. I looked over at him, and understood.

His smile, his disposition, his heart which was open, his mind which was clear. All of this could been seen from his humility, and by what he said next.

"I can never replace a parent, but I can certainly love you, and I can without question be your friend."

She started crying again. "Will I ever see them again?"

I nodded.

"Yes my dear," He replied, with a loving heartwarming voice that almost made me tear up, "you shall see them one day. Until then they will never leave you, they will be like the sun, the stars, and the moon: always present, always watching, and always consistent."

She nodded once more and stepped back into the shadow from which she came looking fearful of going back.

"You'll be alright." My brother said, sensing her fear. "Never run from Fear, for it does not exist. Never run from Death, for he does not prevail."

She was gone, evaporated as if she were made out of vapor. I was beginning to doubt of her existence when I asked my kinsman:

"How did she get here?"

"She came with me sir." He answered, "Along with the rest of _them_."

"What do you mean the rest of _them?" _

He didn't answer me. He just jumped down onto the floor and walked up onto the deck behaving as if I wasn't even there. I looked at his tattoo as he walked up, noticing another, a smaller one. An eagle wings displayed and elevated as if lifting up the evil it carried in the form of a large, six figured number which seemed to be heavier than chain male.

* * *

By the time me and my brother arrived on deck it was dawn. The crew was beginning to serve and consume breakfast. It was the same old thing: oats, wheat and fish. Oats, wheat and fish. Oats, wheat, and fish. Did I mention oats, wheat and fish? Because that's all there was. We ate the same thing every day for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. A rather repetitive course of dietary supplement but I suppose if that's all you have out of oh I don't know (an entire inventory of provisions perhaps) then I guess I can't complain too much.

I escorted my friend to the line. He grabbed his plate and utensils, and stood there like everybody else, but when it got to be his turn to receive food he flinched and ducked a bit, as if he were afraid for his life. He cowered behind his plate.

"Bitte beachten Sie nicht töte mich, ich, ich!" He cried, practically screamed it.

I had no idea what was happening, but it doesn't take a genius to know that he was deathly afraid. The cooks were laughing at him as I approached.

"It seems that you need to rub off on your relative there 'ey Reep!" They cried with hoots and hollers.

My friend was shaking, bracing himself for a thrashing, his eyes were closed painfully tight and sweat poured from him. I gave a threatening stare towards the cook crew, and led him towards the stern of the ship.

He threw his plate and fork down on the ground as if he were angry at the world. He broke down right in front of me. This is where my sympathy stopped. "No, you're not going to do that." I ordered, if there was one thing I absolutely hate is when people break down due of fear.

"I'm sorry," he said to no one in particular. "ICH Verachtung, ich werde gehorchen, ich verspreche."

He turned towards me: "Are you going to kill me?"

His voice was pathetic, tears fell as he continued his nonsensical conversation with me. "Whenever I was given something and I accepted it, they threatened to kill me."

"Who threatened to kill you?" I asked, growing a bit concerned, as I began to think of what could've caused this soul to be traumatized by the simple act of food.

He began to shake again, I repeated my question and he said:

"The G-G-G-G-Germans."

I had no idea who The Germans were. They were obviously a nasty sort of group if they caused my comrade this much grief. So far he doesn't have a name, has two haunting tattoos and is traumatized by meals. Pieces were missing here. He asked his question again.

"Are you going to kill me?"

Immediately I answered: "The people who degraded your soul and gave your life meaningless function made the mistake of being contemptuous to a soul worthy of knighthood. I have seen your chivalry and choose to defend it- may they, these Germans, know my acrimony towards nefarious nature."

I was getting too complicated for him because he looked at me with those 'what did you just say' eyes. I smiled in understanding:

"Apologizes, sometimes my mouth gets ahead of my head. I said-"

He cut me off.

"That you won't stand for the treatment that these Germans have caused me and plan to, if necessary, defend me?" Tilden asked.

"Well, if you want to simply it." I said.

"You should've said it then!" Tilden said, "Nothing I hate more than war is people who over complicate a simple answer. Say yes you spare me or no you don't. You didn't have to say the last part but since you did I accept your offer now, please, for the sake of my sanity, don't speak like that again."

Can't make any promises.

* * *

Tilden then addressed the crew, in a statement that at first made no sense. "The children's shoes."

"What?" I said, and asked him to repeat himself.

"The children's shoes," he looked up at me and stood, facing everyone, "The mountain of them, rising higher than Olympus. The dead bodies, naked, defiled, and fear stricken, here is where the world ends. The train pulls in everyday, carrying more, the same number that come in are the same number that come out. All of it for no reason." His eyes opened up, "It's for no damn fucking reason at all!" He broke down at my feet, begging me either to end his life or to help start it. I choose the later.

I embraced him. I'm not much of a hugger, but he obviously needed one. "The sins of the world pass away," I said to him in his ear, "with the sunrise."

"Hyperion where did you go to?" He said, looking out to the sea. I let go of him, having enough hugging to last me the rest of my life.

"Who is that sir?" I asked, part in curiosity and part because if this Hyperion person could make him feel better, I would become desperate to find him, for there is only so much sadness and pity one could take.

"He is a bird," my friend answered, "a faithful friend and advisor. He has never let me down."

"I will never let you fall." A voice said.

Above us, perched onto one of the barrels was a Great Horned Owl.

"You are Hyperion I presume?" I asked.

"That I am." The owl answered in a Russian accent. He addressed the crew:

"Greetings and Salutations," he said, "my name is Khrol Taranchiev but please, for clarity sake, call me Hyperion Adonis, they are my call signs and I prefer them anyway."

"Adonis isn't that 'Lord of the Sky'?" Eustace, who was paying attention for once asked.

Hyperion nodded, "Precocious are we?" He laughed.

"Why are you here?" Caspian, who was busy eating still, but had time to look up from his food said.

"A fair question sir," the owl said flying over to him, "but unfortunately, I haven't a straight answer." He looked over towards us, "but my friend over there does."

"Who, Reepicheep?" Caspian asked.

"The one without the badge of office." The owl corrected. "His name is Tilden Wavell. He's my doctor and knows the answer to your question."

"Why can't you answer it?" Caspian asked.

"Because I do not know the answer." The owl replied.

Caspian turned towards Tilden and repeated his question. Tilden couldn't come up with an answer. I answered for him. "Correct me if I'm wrong Master Owl," I said, walking towards the bird showing extreme caution, for I never have been able to trust them (for obvious reasons). "but have you and Tilden been engaging in a campaign against a group called the Germans?"

"The Nazis." The owl corrected me.

"Alright," I said, accepting the weird term with no meaning to me, "it seems that Tilden fears that they are beginning to show presence here."

"What makes you say that?" The owl asked, looking rather skeptical of me.

"He said something to the effect of 'She,' meaning Marian, for she was here-" The owl cut me off at the mentioning of the girl.

"Marian was here?"

I nodded. "She was, but she's gone now."

"Where did she go?"

I looked at this bird, I sensed his fear, or urgency, it was difficult to tell. "She disappeared."

Hyperion said nothing after that, he just took to the air and evaporated into ash as he were a phoenix, his ashes spread into the wind. By the way he left, something told me that whatever it was that was going on couldn't possibly be good.

"Where did he go?" Caspian asked.

"He's doing a rescue mission," Tilden answered, "she's in danger."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Death is knocking at her door."

"Then why didn't you do something before?" I said to him, in a rather disdainful tone.

"It wasn't my job, I'm just a doctor." He said.

"Have you ever thought about being more than what you are?"

"If we are more than what we are, then we can lose sight of _what_ we are. I know that I am a soldier and a doctor. I'm not a vigilante. That's Hyperion's and your job I assume." Tilden said. "You have however, spoke correctly, the Germans are coming sir." He looked at Caspian, "and by looking at what I see before me, you will not last five minutes."

We all thought this was a joke. Even Caspian smiled a bit. Our egos went out the window, we did not realize that the Germans carried different weapons in their wars and played the game differently. Tilden saw this in our faces particularly in mine, for I'll admit I was skeptical of him.

"There is something I need to say to you," Tilden said to me, "202,765."

202,765.

That caused me to think.

If he uses a weapon similar to me, which me most likely does, for his eyes spoke of swordsmanship, and if he were beaten, branded, and broken by this system of villainy that was heading straight for us, then I wonder what would become of us if this war came to our doorstep. I wonder what my number would be.

I noticed that when Hyperion came, Tilden regained his confidence and I saw his generalship- I hoped that he would keep this upward swing of attitude, frankly, the grim depressing version of him was beginning to drain me.

"What do you suggest we do?" I asked him.

"Pray," he said, "and then, hope."

Good answer.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two: Posture**

Tilden took to the place well, he was a natural speaker. At the moment, he was talking to King Edmund about something involving balance. I was on my way to count inventory when I stopped a moment to listen in:

"What exactly are you having trouble with?" Tilden asked.

"I feel a bit off when I duck." Edmund replied.

Expected trouble. I thought. He's too-

"Focused about falling, don't focus on the fall, instead, always keep your eye on the attacker. Here, come and show me your blocking position as if somewhere were coming from above you." Tilden instructed.

Exactly on what I would've said, he was precocious that or a master of the art, he had no blade-yet.

Edmund got into his position which was not terrible, but not great either. He had the look of fear, as if he were acting on a stage. His feet were spread apart evenly but to where if I were to walk up to him and simply do a salute near his ankle and intentionally break the skin he would fall over. His image deceived his balance for he also arched his back awkwardly, as if he were dodging something. He was playing the part of actor, imagining a monster instead of a mast or mouse in front of him. It was not terrible, but not great.

Tilden sighed in sympathy, "You are not Moliere." He said.

I had no idea what he was referring to, an actor from where he's from perhaps.

Edmund stopped demonstrating and looked at him as if waiting to see on what he would do.

"If I were in your position," Tilden said, "I would never look down, but always up. For like I said you always want to have consistent eye contact with the individual. Keep your feet spread apart and anchored," he said demonstrating on himself, "don't arch your back like that," he demonstrated on what Edmund was doing, "you'll never get anywhere or do anything if you stand like a sculpture. You're not an actor, you're not a sculpture." He stood up straight, "You're a solider so stand like one!"

Edmund stood at attention.

Tilden sighed again. "That's not what I meant but Telle est la vie as the French say."

"Well what did you mean then?" Edmund asked.

"Don't look like a stone wall but don't look like a Michelangelo, instead do a bit of both but with pride, dignity, and serenity. Like this." He demonstrated his posture. Head level straight, eyes forward, feet spread at precisely an inch and a half, forepaws behind his back, knees slightly bent. Edmund repeated the same posture. It was a good mimic. Tilden smiled:

"Very good, now, show me your form." He said.

I left after that, I already knew of Edmund's form, it was abecedarian.

I counted the inventory, it was the simple tedious task that no one else wanted to do. To pass the time I hummed a little tune to myself.

I emerged from the cellar Proitwo hours later. Caspian was near the door, he was waiting for my report.

"How are we on provisions?" He asked me.

"We should have plenty Your Majesty, as long as everyone keeps on the diet that they're on."

"Alright!" Caspian yelled, "If anyone is caught eating extra than what they already take, then there will be consequences."

"Now I mean that Your Majesty," I said, "I only meant that we have plenty, every now and again an extra apple should be approbated but not continual abuse of the privilege. If you get my meaning."

"I do." Caspian said, "what do think of the newcomer?"

"Tilden sir." I corrected.

"Yes, what do you think of him?" He said, watching him help Lucy with hanking a rope and then moving over quickly to Eustace to help him with tying a lanyard.

"He seems to be useful." I answered.

"Seems to be." He said. "Keep watch of him, he worries me."

"Why does he worry you Your Majesty?"

"He wears those tattoos for a reason," Caspian said, "perhaps he's part of a group or something."

I looked up at him, "Do you fear that he's working for your opposition?"

"Yes I do."

"That's a bit foolhardy don't you think? I mean if he were a threat then he would've done something by now."

"How long has he been on the ship Reepicheep?" He asked me.

"I don't know precise figures, but a good guess would be twelve hours."

"Still, keep an eye on him, I don't trust him yet." He said.

I nodded and walked away, I quickly turned back though and said: "Are you afraid of something sire?"

Caspian didn't answer me. He just ignored me and walked towards the Captain's Quarters.

"Tilden," I said to him after his work with the lanyards, "it appears that Caspian is suspicious of you."

Tilden laughed, "As he should be, I'm suspicious of me myself."

"I'm serious!" I said, "He's worried that you might do something."

"What exactly is he worried about?"

"I don't know," I answered, "he's paranoid."

"Paranoia," Tilden said, "is the most dangerous form of fear, because it is exaggerated, usually false and can be easily cured through conversation. I'll talk to him, see if that will calm any nerves." He moved towards the Captain's Quarters.

"Wait just a moment," I said, "I think it would be best if I go with you, if you choose to talk to him. I could be your patron."

"Good idea." He said.

We walked towards the Captain's Door, as we did so I asked him the question I did before:

"What are those marks on your back?"

Tilden sighed, he knew he couldn't keep the secret behind them any longer. I was hoping for a through explanation but all I got was: "_Arbeit macht frei._ Work makes you free."

I stopped walking, let him take the lead, giving me a chance to look at the tattoo's again. I noticed the eagle, the number and Tilden. His walk changed, his head lowered, for a moment, I thought he was crying. I walked towards him and placed my arm around him, we continued walking and entered the Captain's Quarters.

"Why is he crying?" Caspian asked.

Tilden buried his face into my torso and broke down, I should've never asked that question which brought too many memories of fear. I should've kept my mouth shut.

"He has been branded-"

"I know, I've seen the tattoos." Caspian replied.

"By a devil Your Majesty." I said, finishing my sentence.

Caspian for the first time, looked at him, saw Tilden's tears and said: "Who did this to him?"

"I don't know sir." I answered. "He hasn't been to specific on the individual. He just said that doctors and the Germans did this, but I haven't heard of these people, beings, I don't even know what the Germans are, the only thing I do know for certain is that they cause misery."

"Sounds like my uncle's men." Caspian said.

I nodded, "Similar circumstances indeed," I said, "what do we do about it?"

"What would you do?" Caspian asked. He was searching me for answers, I didn't have many of them. I did have one though.

"We need to protect him." I answered, "At least until we have all the answers, then we can go from there."

"Very well," Caspian said, "he'll be in your care."

I nodded, bowed respectfully and escorted Tilden out.

The night gave into conversation between me and Tilden as to sleeping arrangements.

"I believe there is an extra bunk somewhere." I said.

"No," Tilden said, "I'll sleep on the deck."

"If there's a storm you might be swept by the wind, the waves and drown possibly."

"Then at least," he said, "I would die in the freest condition-during sleep and in good company."

"Do you wish for death?" I asked him.

"I do not wish for anything," Tilden said, "but if Death were to come for me I would not deny it. I would simply accept the fact and move on to the Greatest Height."

"Is that what you call eternal happiness?" I asked.

He nodded. "It's Hyperion's phrase."

"You look up to him I wager."

He nodded again, "He is my great patron, my loyal advisor, the only friend I have left who understands me."

"What happened to the rest of them?"

"Dead." Tilden said. "All of them trying to save me from-" he stopped himself, "from the place I came from."

"Where did you come from? You mentioned it briefly but I'm still confused, do you mind elaborating?"

Tilden shook his head. "I just warning you," he said, "it isn't going to be happy."

"I'm prepared for it." I said.

Tilden cleared his throat and began speaking: "It was January 1942..."


End file.
